Brotherhood
by imitateslife
Summary: Nadir Khan reflects on his relationship with his faithful servant, Darius. Kay-based.
1. Chapter 1

Lazy clouds drifted over the gardens. From my vantage point behind some tall plants, I could see them roll by and blocking the bloated sun. I was in hiding and doing a fine job of it until-

"Aha!" Darius' voice crowed out as the fan-like leaves parted to reveal his round face. "_Found_ you!"

He always did. In those days, he was my bosom companion and I could say without a doubt that he knew me best of anyone in the world. I propped myself up onto my elbows and twisted to face him.

"You always do," I said. My voice was petulant. I was nearing eight years of age. "How do you do that?"

Darius grinned.

"I know you," he said. At seven years old, he didn't have the art to be cryptic. I wouldn't have called him simple – and today, I still wouldn't – but there was a bluntness about his character that never sharpened.

He offered me his hand, which I gladly took. Our sticky, pudgy palms pressed hard against one another as he helped me to my feet. Before we could let go, there was a sort of yelp from the shaded porch mere feet away. My mother rushed to my side and pried me from Darius' grasp.

"Look at you!" she said. "Your nice, new robes: soiled, covered in dirt…! If your father saw you now…!"

"_Madar_," I groused. "You're embarrassing me in front of my friend…"

She started, as if noticing Darius for the first time. Her eyes, just as green as mine, narrowed and her lips became a thin line upon her face. She looked away from him, but not directly at me.

"It isn't right that you keep such company, Nadir," she murmured. Even then, I had no doubt that Darius could hear her. I wondered later if he was _meant_ to hear her words. "A young man of your standing needs proper friends from proper families."

I wanted to ask what she meant by that, but her faraway look suddenly refocused. She looked me up and down and sighed.

"We'll have to clean you up, my son," she told me. "The new tutor has just arrived and I won't have you embarrassing yourself on your first day of lessons."

She tried to tug me towards the house. I remained unmoved. Legs locked, I stood in place, looking from my mother to Darius and back again. My brows knitted together.

"Isn't Darius coming to lessons?" I asked.

My mother hesitated. Finally, she looked at Darius. When she spoke, her voice was flat: "I believe Darius' mother is looking for him in the kitchens."

Her meaning seemed clear then: that Darius' mother needed his help with something. She was one of the maids in our home; responsible for meal preparation. I suddenly imagined Darius sticking his fingers into creamy desserts that were no doubt being prepared to celebrate my tutor's arrival from Tehran.

If only things were that simple.

I allowed my mother to tug me towards the house, but I looked back at my friend. He suddenly seemed solitary and far, far beyond my grasp.

But I was certain – or I told myself that I was certain – that tomorrow would find us in the garden again, playing hide-and-seek.

If only things were that simple.

I don't remember when exactly I learned that Darius was my blood brother. I remember learning mathematics and reading and writing and geography and history. I remember learning to ride a horse and to address my betters in an appropriate fashion. But the singular fact that defined my relationship with Darius was not something I learned. It was something I always knew in my bones, though as a child, I never could find the words to ask. After all, at that stage in life, I knew that to be brothers, two boys must share the same mother and father.

I do remember learning that Darius and I shared a father.

I was ten years old and hadn't exhausted this tutor as I had my last, bur his complaints were the same as they always had been: _Nadir is too inquisitive and perhaps too observant._ Though not exhausted, my tutor would sometimes turn me loose before lessons were scheduled to end. I noticed that when he did this, he always looked a little bit lost; like a child who had swam too far too quickly and who was rendered unable to do much more than float for sheer exhaustion. It was on one of those days I learned Darius and I were truly brothers. I wandered the halls of my family's estate and came upon the eunuchs' quarters. We had but three eunuchs serving our family at the time; all three were my mother's attendants; guards, if you will, who lived to shield her from strange men and to see that her every whim was catered to. My mother didn't have a lot of whims; often I wondered why she needed so many attendants, especially since the three of them were wont to gossip. If a rumor spread through the house, you could bet one of them had either started it or passed it on from a private third party.

I paused outside the open door out of idle curiosity.

"One does not wish to speak ill of one's mistress," one of the eunuchs – Melchior – said. "But-"

"If one does not wish to speak ill of one's mistress," said Farhad. "One ought to hold one's tongue."

Farhad always said sanctimonious things like that, but I knew as well as anyone that it was an act. He was usually the first to voice an impolite opinion. I had the sneaking suspicion he didn't want to be outdone.

"Perhaps I misspoke," Melchior said. "I will not speak ill. I will just say what I saw."

"Well, what _did_ you see?" asked Bijan. He was the quietest of the three, but I could hear excited curiosity buzzing in his voice. Before he had been my mother's servant, he had been mine. For many years, he watched over me when my parents could not. Of the three, I liked him best. "What did the mistress do?"

It must have registered to me in some dim part of my mind that the woman they were about to speak of was my mother. But it didn't. Instead, I strained to hear as Melchior dropped his voice to a whisper.

"She struck Rayka across the face this morning. Just before breakfast."

"Then Rayka must have done something to deserve our mistress' wrath," sniffed Farhad. "Even a cobra will not strike unless provoked."

My jaw swung open. Rayka was Darius' mother. I had known her all my life and she had always been kind to me. Beyond kind, in fact. She would help me to line my pockets with stolen sweets from the kitchens as a young child and even now that I was older – ten seemed so mature and worldly wise at the time – she treated me as fondly as she would, were I her own flesh and blood. She was fiercely loyal to our family and I couldn't imagine her incurring my mother's wrath. Especially since so little seemed to ruffle my mother's feathers. She ran an efficient household and was the most proper of ladies.

"The only thing Rayka is guilty of is bearing the master the second son he craved," Melchior said. "It happens all the time in other households and no one treats it as a crime… Besides. It's been ten years. Give or take."

"Yes," said Bijan. "But what happens in _other_ households is none of our affair. Old wounds can still ache, even ten years later."

Understanding crept up on me. At first, it moved slowly through my mind and then, without warning, the conclusion was drawn: Darius was my father's son. Every moment my mother pushed or pulled me away from him flashed through my memory and my blood began to feel hot under my skin. Why had no one told me I had a brother? Was that why I wasn't to play with him? Or was it because he was a servant's son? Even so, if he was my father's son – a prince's son, as I was – why was he shut away in the servants' quarters instead of learning languages at my side?

"Darius doesn't know, of course," Melchior said. It sounded like an afterthought. "Nor does the young master. But do you remember the way they used to chase each other in the gardens?"

"I always thought they _did_ know," Bijan said. "Intuitively, I mean."

"What a ridiculous thing to say," Farhad said. "They were – _are_—just children."

"You don't give them enough credit," Bijan said. "Especially the young master. He's training to fill his father's shoes. And everyone says he's too observant for his own good."

Regardless of what everyone said about me, I _felt_ too observant for my own good. I slunk away before the conversation turned to maligning my mother for smacking Darius' and long before anyone could suspect me of overhearing.


	2. Chapter 2

The funny thing about time is how much it can change a person. As the days of my childhood blended into years of adolescence, I never forgot Darius, nor did I forget that conversation which I overheard at the eunuchs' door. But I kept what I knew to myself, as so often I did with other things later in life, and I listened to my tutor and to my parents. I was a dutiful son, but beyond that, I was a young nobleman. By fortune of birth, I was better than other young men my age who worked in the kitchens and in the stables; I was better than the sellers in the bazaar and the beggars on the street. What kept me grounded, I think, was the knowledge that there were those who were better than me: the royal family, for instance. Even the shah's young son, younger than me but in due time would become shah himself, was better than me.

It was a delicate balance and one I didn't dare question. The few times I tried, my tutor made a helpless gesture and said: "It is the will of Allah that things should be this way." I didn't dare ask my father, the Daroga of Mazenderan. He was busy and important and when I saw him, we were not outwardly affectionate. I knew that I was to be apprenticed to him upon my fifteenth year and I and a handful of my most necessary servants would travel to where he worked and I would learn how to apply the mystifying laws of my country to its people.

It was when I learned I'd be taking servants with me to Mazenderan and to the capitol that I began to devise my plan.

I seldom asked for anything from my mother and father. I was, after all, a good son and a good son never asked for more than he needed. But in this case, what I wished to ask for was something I could easily disguise as a need.

It was on one of my father's stays home. I counted on his being there, knowing full well that were I to ask my mother alone, she would say she needed his approval, which in those days was her way of saying no and foisting the blame on him. We dined together in relative peace. My father spoke of his work and suddenly, conversation took a direct shift.

"And in two years, Nadir will join me," he said.

A smile broke through on his face, as the sun breaks through a thunderstorm. I knew he would take my side, for I was his pride and joy and would soon train to take his place and allow him the retirement he so desired and deserved. He had been in his middle age when I was born. Now he was old; his hair was salt-and-pepper colored, with more salt than pepper. His beard had gone entirely grey.

"I have been meaning to speak with you, _Pedar_, about that," I said.

My mother's plate clattered on the table, but she regained composure quickly. Still, I could feel her fear thick in the air. I was thirteen and no doubt she feared that I, like other boys my age, was entering a time of rebellion. My father made no such motion. Instead, he inclined his head towards me, urging me to go on.

"I've been thinking that when I go to court with you… when I become your apprentice… my needs will have changed," I said. "I will not need servants to watch out for me as if I were a little child."

"This is true," said my father. "You will be a young man; not a child."

"I've been thinking that I will want for a personal attendant of my own," I said. "And that I will want someone closer to my own age. There are not, I take it, many men as young as me at court?"

"This is also true," my father said. "I shall choose a attendant for you. Or your mother shall, once I'm away again."

There was pregnant pause. I locked eyes with my father. Where my mother and I had light, unusual eyes, his were the more common, nut brown of our family. I don't know why I'd never noticed before that Darius had exactly my father's eyes, both in shape and in hue. I thought of him and was suddenly unafraid.

"I've put some thought to it," I said. "And I would like – Allah willing – Darius to be my attendant. Perhaps he can apprentice to your own attendant while I finish my studies?"

"Sarina, will you listen to our son?" my father said, looking from me to my mother. "He has given this careful thought! He's practically ready to join me at court already!"

My mother made a tight noise through pursed lips. She hadn't been quite as old as my father when I was born, but age lines crisscrossed her once lovely features. She carried bitterness within her heart; bitterness that only showed itself in moments like this. I could tell she was thinking of my father's transgressions against their marriage. She was thinking of Rayka in the kitchens, who had more than likely prepared the very meal we were eating. She was thinking of Darius and our childhood friendship that, to her eyes, was so improper it was almost unforgivable. It took a long time for her to speak.

"Nadir and Darius were playmates as children," she said softly. "Do you not worry that they will think of nothing but play at court, if they are together once more?"

My father rubbed his chin as if considering her words. Then he said, "Nadir's tutors tell me the boy is studious and good. Their worst complaint is that he's _too_ eager to learn at times. How can a boy like that turn his mind to play as a young man? We have raised a good son."

"Indeed we have," my mother said, casting her eyes downwards. "I just worry that Darius might be a bad influence upon Nadir."

"You believe our son to be impressionable," my father said.

"No, no!" My mother was running out of arguments and she knew it. She had one thing she _could_ argue for, but for the sake of saving face where she could, she said nothing. Color rose high into her cheeks. "I am merely curious why Nadir would pick _Darius_ – a kitchen boy – to be his attendant?"

"Ask him, then!" my father snapped. I had never heard him speak to my mother in such a harsh tone, nor anybody. I supposed he must have spoken to prisoners in this manner or to incompetent bailiffs at the prison. I never would have guessed he would speak to my mother in such abrasive terms. There was a tense silence and then they turned their eyes to me. My father was the one to ask me, "Well?"

"I wish to honor Darius for his years of friendship," I said. This was the part I had rehearsed alone in my room. "We must not forget the kindness of others and loyalty is to be rewarded. Was it not you, _Pedar_, who told me a man must allow himself a few, loyal friends and beware false ones?"

He'd told me that a hundred times. I'd come to see – rightfully, I would later learn – Persia's court to be a treacherous place. His eyes softened.

"We cannot deny him his request," he said softly. "It is a just thing to do. And Nadir shows wisdom beyond his years. We must allow it."

My mother bowed her head again, this time in defeat. I had gotten my wish. For a moment, I was the victor.

However, when my father was due to return to court, I saw Darius loading up an extra horse for the trip. I stayed his hand as he reached for a saddle hanging on the stable wall.

"Who is this horse for?" I asked.

He had a serious demeanor that kept his round face from looking as good-natured as I knew him to be. Today, Darius looked positively grim.

"I am to be apprenticed to your father's personal attendant," he said. "I was told last night that you are to be my master in two years' time."

My plan had worked! I wanted to take Darius by the hands excitedly and tell him all the things that I had planned for the two of us: I would teach him to read and to write and to do equations. I would one day share my birthright with him, as I should have done for all this time. But he met my gaze for a fleeting moment and to my surprise, there was sadness there.

"I will be gone for six months," he said. "I will miss this place."

"This place will be here when you return," I told him. "You must tell me – when you return – about all the wonderful things you see at court."

"Yes, master," Darius said. And with that he turned away to saddle up his horse.

My heart sank. I don't believe I had ever realized that I was the only one of us to know that we were brothers. I had thought that surely if it was common knowledge among the eunuchs of our household, that it was the worst-kept secret in all of Persia. But I was wrong. Or if I was right, the last few years had changed Darius as much as they had changed me.

I watched from the front porch as my father's company – now including Darius – rode away.


End file.
